


Red Flag

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Brain Ghost Dirk, Canon Compliant, Horny Dad Jake, M/M, Makeouts, Overly Verbose Dirk, Sexual Content, handjobs, referenced abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: Jake English has limited experience in expressing his own desires. There is, naturally, a first time for everything.
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	Red Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all. Heads up. Your homeboy did not read the epilogues. 
> 
> But Jake was unprecedented in his horniness in that sequel update and it’s fucking me up.

There was a seed of distrust that had taken root within Jake English. It started from the first moment he stepped off the solid dirt of his little island home—possibly sooner, though thoroughly unacknowledged until that point. It was a dastardly little egg that sunk into the base of his abdomen and urged him back, away, and afar. It had saved his hide a few times, maybe. It had even given him the courage to depart from a nasty, dark place in recent weeks. But it had only burrowed itself deeper into his fragile spine over his ensuing, increasingly shadowed lifespan. Calceous and cemented; it grew more permanent, more anxious, by the day. So when one Mr. Dirk Strider showboats his return via a confuddled dream sequence and no healthy amount of flirtatious passes, well. Jake English has long learned to spot a red flag from even the most undersized of cherry briefs.

Jake takes a moment to examine the color a bit more. No, less than red. Something a bit lighter. Brighter, but no less flashy. Blood orange? Sure, he decides. He will go with blood orange. Deathly, iron-rusted, bloodied orange. He worries, briefly, that he might sound pretentious by wording it in such a way. Then he worries that he has most certainly spent the last several minutes staring at his late bro’s and former flame’s unpuffed pantaloons. With gusto, he falls into a silent panic.

“Whoa, there,” Dirk calls. He’s been a steady, even force since he first appeared. Jake cannot classify him as entirely pleasant but the man has at the very least proven himself non-antagonistic. Mostly. “Easy,” Dirk continues. “Slow it down.”

“I am not a horse,” Jake replies, stout.

“If anyone is playing a horse in this looming dubiously-masturbatory sexcapade it will undoubtedly be me,” Dirk says. He lifts a mostly-corporeal hand to settle on Jake’s, of which are too occupied with holding the opposing sides of Dirk’s recently unzipped zipper to react. Jake lets out a shaky breath.

“Surely,” Jake says. His own voice sounds distant.

“Surely?” Dirk repeats. “Would you be into that? Are you into that?”

“What?”

“What?”

Jake stares at him. Blinks.

“Never mind.” Dirk lifts Jake’s hands away from his jeans. “Listen. This is clearly a bad fucking idea.”

“No!” Jake yells. It makes both of them jump. Jake flinches, then struggles to recover. “It’s, a, um—it’s a wonderful idea! You said so yourself!”

“Yeah, when I thought I was about to get a mean slice of sweaty dadbod rubbed all over me,” Dirk replies, abandoning Jake’s hands at the man’s own waist. They flex there, empty. “I would gladly plate that serving of meatloaf in any orifice said meatloaf may so desire. But that was before you clamped up on me and got that dazed look slapped across your face and I remembered in very blunt terms that, hey, Brain Ghost Dirk, you’re fucking with what a licensed therapist would probably call a very _fragilé_ person here. Maybe don’t stick your hands down his reasonably-lengthened pants. Or at least don’t do it immediately. Let it breathe, as they say. Let the English hangover funk waft a little before you straddle that rapidly growing bullpeen hammer.” Dirk nods his head a bit, as if coaxing Jake’s wide expression to keep up. “But then you jumped _me._ Which was unexpected but not entirely unwanted. It’s nice to see you showing some, I don’t know, desire, for once. It’s nice to know Jake is physically capable of making grabby hands at literally anything. Even if you’re really just coming off as an exceptionally horny recently-single father. Like I said, unprecedented but not unsolicited—“

Jake shoves his mouth against the blood orange lips of his former compatriot. The ghostly figure feels even more real, suddenly. Solid, beneath his hands. Warm, where he reaches beneath the red flag and finds a familiar length of flesh. The figure, for his part, does not mind the interruption. He kisses back with the fervor of a man who had not been touched with such desperate affection in years. A sentiment Jake can relate to, if not properly voice.

“Yeah,” Dirk breathes out when their lips part. Jake squeezes him. “Yeah, definitely firmly solicited. As long as you, you know. Aren’t going to flip off the fucking handle on me straight into trauma-triggering soup. Which is winter squash, by the way. For Dirk Strider childhood reasons I do not want to get into at the moment.”

Jake does not want to think. Dirk’s words are too close to a reality he does not want to believe in. He scrunches his eyes closed. Presses his face to Dirk’s neck. Not to hide, but to mouth out the roughly 80% opacity skin there and search for a startled moan instead of a quip about personal traumas or a monologue regarding Dirk’s brand of mutual-deprecation. His other hand peels down Dirk’s jeans. 

“We’re stuck with each other for the moment,” Dirk attempts to continue, through ever-heavier breath, “I know you haven’t gotten your dick wet in a while, but I just think, and this is a real cutting edge idea, I know, that for once—fuck, English—for once we don’t royally fuck up our interpersonal relationship.”

Jake pauses. Eyes on the kitchen wall behind Dirk. Hand drawing limp around Dirk’s hardening dick. He says, almost irritated, “You’re being awfully considerate about all this, chum.”

“Canon Dirk’s dead, long live non-canon Dirks,” Dirk huffs. “I’ve got a right to be an empathetic, sentient being. Maybe I’m just pulling a little harder on my brain-daddy Jake genes, huh? What do you think about that? Other than letting me know you’re into daddy stuff. Because I keep setting myself up for kink-chat here, I realize. The dangers of being a twink in this big scary world are infinite and nigh ever-present.”

“If I say I’m your daddy, will you hush down and have sex with me?” Jake says. His voice is gruff, impatient. The voice of a man that would like to lose himself in this red flag rather than think about its broader implications.

“Only if I can still be a horse,” Dirk replies. Then, after a beat with no response or movement, offers Jake a harsh laugh—loud and blunt and right next to his ear.

“You’re not doing wonders for the moment, here, lad,” Jake says.

“I just...” Dirk offers between laughs. “I’m going to fuck it up. You know that, right? After everything. You have to know that.”

“I know enough to not expect otherwise,” Jake states. “Let me have this. And, blast, I don’t know. Let yourself have this?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dirk says. “Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Sure,” Dirk says. “Daddy.”

“That sounds so disingenuous coming from your mouth,” Jake states. He pulls his hand up and grips Dirk’s hips, ushering the brain ghost back towards a wall. 

“Most words sound disingenuous from my mouth. It’s my general, aloof cadence. I can’t help it.”

“I thought you promised to hush up? Like a good little pony?”

“Oh. Right.”

Dirk’s arms curl over Jake’s shoulders. They are still, for a second. Dirk dips his mouth down. He hovers it against Jake’s mustache, dragging his lips over the coarse hairs there and threatening another kiss beneath them.

“Neigh,” he says, deadpan. 

“ _Alright,_ ” Jake sighs. “One more word out of your ghost-specific key lime pie hole and we’re sitting down and platonically watching Arrested Development for the rest of the night.”

“I’d say don’t threaten me with a good time but also I really want to suck your dick.”

“Then by all means,” Jake says, exasperated. “Please. God. Let’s roll this show on, and inevitably off, the road.”


End file.
